The hours bled by. As he absentmindedly watched dozens of cakes being made and the professional chef yelling and berating the amateur cooks, James tried not to let his mind wander. He didn’t want to think of anything. Everything was wrong. The world was upside down.
At some point past midnight, he fell asleep.
He woke up on the couch the next morning and enjoyed several peaceful moments before he remembered what happened. But it all came back to him, and it came back hard. He swallowed. The TV had been turned off and the remote was placed on the coffee table. Next to it was a plate of food—eggs, toast, and bacon. His mom must have made it before she left for work. It was cold by now, but he ate it gratefully as he turned the TV back on and sank into the sofa.
He stayed like that for three whole days. He sat for hours on end, drifting in and out of sleep, watching mindless television, wondering when Derek would show up. Occasionally, he risked switching to a news channel to see if there were any updates, but he got only a few tidbits of information. The Super headquarters in Washington, D.C., had been raided, but it was completely empty. The SIA had created a task force to hunt the Supers. None of the Supers had been seen since.
His mom came home late from work each night, cooked him dinner, and placed it in front of him, but she didn’t say anything. Perhaps she was giving him space. Somewhere deep down, James knew she was grieving, too, that it was just as hard for her to get up in the morning and go to work. But he was too focused on his own grief to recognize hers.
As he lay on the couch sometime in the afternoon on the third day, halfway through a bag of chips and an episode of a show about buying storage units and hoping they weren’t full of garbage, he heard the front door open. This time, he didn’t bother getting up.
“Well, you look like shit,” Rocky’s voice came from the kitchen.
James glanced at him before turning his gaze back to the TV.
“Alright, come on, bro. He’s not dead.”
James sat up, spilling crumbs and putting the bag of chips on the table. “You don’t know what it’s like. He’s gone.”
“Yeah,” Rocky said with a nod. “I don’t know what it’s like. You’re right. Because the difference is my brother isn’t coming back.”
James rubbed his forehead, cursing himself for not thinking. Rocky’s older brother died almost five years ago. “I’m sorry, Rocky. That was rude.”
“Yeah, it was, but I’m gonna let it go. I know it must suck, not knowing where he is.” He hopped over the couch to sit next to James. “What the hell are you watching?”
James shrugged and switched off the TV. “It’s better than the news. They’ve been talking nonstop about the Supers.”
“With good reason. It’s crazy what happened. Suddenly, they’re just gone. They’ve been watching over us, protecting us for years, and now we’re supposed to believe they went rogue, randomly decided to kill a bunch of people?”
“That’s what they all think,” James said, gesturing toward the TV.
“Nah. While you’ve been holed up in here, I’ve been out and about. Everyone’s talking about the Supers, but not like they’re criminals. Most people still believe in them.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. They’re gone, and they won’t be back anytime soon with the government hunting them.”
Rocky grabbed a chip and munched it. “You know what? I’ve known Derek as long as I’ve known you, and I can’t see him just up and leaving.”
James stood and stretched, walking into the kitchen. “Well, he did.”
“I know he left,” Rocky said, hopping up from the couch and cornering James as he filled a cup in the sink. “But he cares about you. He must’ve told you where he went.”
“He didn’t,” James said, trying to keep the pain from his voice.
“They must have, I don’t know, a spot that nobody knows about, somewhere they can lie low for a while.”
The cup slipped from James’s hand, crashing to the floor and spilling water everywhere, but he hardly noticed. He slapped himself on the forehead. “Of course!”
“What?” Rocky said, looking at his splashed shoes with dismay.
“Right before he left,” James said excitedly, ignoring the water pooling at his feet. “The day before he left, he showed me this... this secret bunker he used when he first became a Super.”
“You think they’re there?”
“It was pretty small, but there was canned food in there, supplies, everything,” James said. How had he missed it? Derek showed him the day before everything went down. That had to be more than mere coincidence.
Rocky twirled his car keys in his hand. “Then let’s go.”
They jumped into Rocky’s car and peeled off. James gave directions toward the abandoned warehouse, all the lethargy and depression of the last few days gone. He was going to see Derek. He imagined his brother’s wide smile as he realized James had figured it out. They would talk it out, decide what to do next.
Rocky’s car skidded on the gravel as they pulled up to the warehouse. James practically jumped out and jogged toward the door. Rocky scrambled to follow, clearly confused. James pulled open the door and strode in.
“This is... an empty warehouse,” Rocky said from behind James, his voice echoing slightly.
“Just wait,” James said, striding toward the wall with the graffiti. He pointed to the crate on the ground across from it. “Please stand there.”
Rocky obliged, nearly jumping off from shock when it lowered slightly into the ground. Sure enough, there was a hiss, and a panel barely larger than his hand appeared in the wall. James breathed, wondering how this would work. He pressed his hand against the panel. There was a flash of green light and a click, and a moment later,
